Herbalists' Cache the gunslinger watched as the world moved on

scout thread! anyone is welcome <3

the wood was not nearly as dark as the blackpine was, and the young ghost drew his crown upward to peer through the thick boughs and onward to the sky that stretched beyond in a dismal grey. he thought that he could smell snow on the air, but he would never know if the pale flakes were falling from underneath the stretch of the pine boughs. he thought the place to be something of a sanctuary in the heart of a savage wilderness. all things seemed quiet beneath the pines.

he padded across a layer of needles as he made his way through the territory. the rusty ears on his crown were cupped forward and listening for signs of anyone else in the wood, but he could hear only the quiet humming of birds overhead, and the occasional squeak of a prey animal. if he had not been wiser, he would have imagined that he'd passed into another world entirely.

me, as i continue to put aure in the most philosophical & dramatic situations as i possibly can.

She told herself she’d worn this day away for foraging, for Rose, for their stores, for Drakru. It was true, and more, as it was her second forage, and she’d barely let herself sleep from the return on the coast. That was what she’d came here for. 

But if she were to be forward...she missed the mountains. O, the cliffs that her Drakru pined for had since become enfavored by her. And still... her spirit longed for the earthen spires, too paramount for the sea to lash and snag upon. Missed their cradle, longed to linger at their precipice, on the very point that wrenched at clouds, bolstered against tempests, and hauled borealis from the heart of the sun and skies.

It was this, with webs of ascertaining the Cache’s location, that had her announce her departure so very early this morn; had her drifting this way with all of a herbalists’ purpose, and that of her own heart. Her heart, that had become so profound and ensnared by innumerable kru-by-the-sea... had started to stutter. From impatience, from feeling too at ease. Smothered, as much as she adored them and him.

Before she would allow all of Drageda to hold fast her heart, her being, her very self and soul... she needed this. Needed to think, to breathe, to remember herself; remember Vonnaruil, and what the coastal-one had said.

This grove seemed without flaw to preform such personal tidings. So she settled down, reclined among frost-limned ferns, her spirit bending away from her and out, out. If she closed her bright eyes, a vision of Rhaesuial bloomed forth from the hidden, aching recesses of her memories.

Tranquility. Too much of it. So long had she gone without it; her heart beat deep and slow within her breast, and she couldn’t help the soft, wisping sob that left her muted lungs. Didn’t try to stop the tears as they mussed their way from heavy-to-cheek lashes, only to weave and join at a narrow chin.

the young ghost prowled through the unfamiliar terrain at a slow pace. he was set on finding kavik and liri, but he had never really taken the time to search the land that was so close to his home – to know it as more than just a distant terrain. something in him had stirred since leaving the plateau; illidan had found the same wanderlust that had plagued his father. it had latched hold of his frame and made him into a fine beast, intent on discovering all of the world that there was.
 
more than this, the young ghost imagined that there was a chance his father had wandered through the same stretch of wilderness. in this way, he felt a bit closer to the old man. the painful reminder of his death was not something that he actively sought, but it was something that rested in the pit of his stomach whether he thought about it or not. it was as though it had become a permanent part of who he was.
 
with a heavy breath, the dark-hooded youth paused in his trek and scanned the cache for a sign of anyone else. he could scent the herbs that grew there. he imagined that it was an ideal place for those who specialized in healing to get their wares. it had never been something that he had actively wished to learn about. still, he knew that there were those who were inclined to learn those things.
 
a few steps further, and the boy’s hawkish gaze latched onto a pale figure who had found a slice of peaceful land to rest upon. he thought not to bother her, until he caught the scent that clung to her coat and he realized where she came from. the fur along his neck and shoulders rose upward and his breathing grew heavier than it had been before. illidan thought that he had a perfect opportunity to enact their revenge on the cliff wolves… that he could surely kidnap this pale creature and drag her back to the sound.
 
that was until he saw that she was crying. this was the only thing that gave him pause. he stood like a reaper, peering at her with fire burning in the yellow of his eyes. but he did not move.

A hushed, throaty gasp rose from her before her head flickered up; left her overwhelmed lungs with a stumble. For a moment, she stared blearily, unseeing anything other than a gloaming figure. A few trembling blinks, and the one before her sharpened into a dusky, pantheric mold; hackles ruffled and undoubtedly from Drageda’s once-claim.

Her encounter with Caphias since had not changed her particular perception of the Sound wolves. Like with the night-laureled wight, she regarded the Rusalkan male before her unassumingly, oddly refined for her tearful state. There was nothing more that Aure would wont for than to help others—everyone except herself. By a habit that’d become nearly instinctual, her eyes fluttered over the boy’s frame, in search of things raw and red.

So, because of this factor, she bit her lip in salt and sorrow before atoning, ”I... am sorry.” The meaning, unless given explanation, was entirely ambiguous. But should he take a moment to listen to the strain tugging at her foreign chords, or notice the way she was looking at him—so repentant and ignorant of war—the harpy’s faun might be able to piece it together himself.

hatred burned inside of him like an endless fire, and it had just been doused in gasoline. he wanted to move forward and wrap his fangs around her throat and squeeze the life from it. he wanted her to cease her pitiful crying so that he could focus on the task at hand, but she did not. instead, she drew her head upward and regarded him with a sad expression that he could not have placed. illidan did what he could to grit himself against the wash of emotion that threatened to flood through his limbs.

'i... am sorry'

the words were soft, almost as though they fluttered on the backs of moths. the ghost furrowed his brow and snorted into the chilling winter air. a plume of his breath rose from his nostrils and disappeared into the dismal grey of the sky. it was too late for pleasantries, wasn't it? it was too late for her to say things like that when she had aided them in a war against his family and his home. all for what? for settling in the place that they belonged... she ought to have been sorry.

“you should be,” he growled in a gravely voice. his eyes were steely against her narrow features, but he did not budge just yet. instead, he stood like a savage reaper and waited to see what she had to say for herself beyond the pitiful murmuring of apologies.

In return, she was given a withering stare from the younger, and even then her gaze did not leave his own. A slight crease molded itself at her brow, not so much at taking offense at the wrath of his phrasing, but more in the way of wondering. Wondering how to... to come some on mutual understanding, one that ascended his hate or her hardship.

Would that she could, she would tell him of her eccentric arrival upon Drageda; tell him how her arrival had been in the midst of a war; tell him how she had nigh to none seasoning in fending and fighting. But she knew that wouldn’t work here—she never liked to speak of herself too much, anyways. ”From what I have heard, ze Sound was meant to be claimed by Drageda,” she acquiesced, leveling her stricken gaze to the depths of the one before her.

Her voice remained hushed, for both of their sakes, as she continued, ”But your nōrē should have ze freedom to settle where they long to. I...” she faltered, drifting in thought for a moment, and looked to him then, brow deepening with uncomprehension, ”I don’t understand why some parley could not have been stricken. A treaty of some sort.”

And then her eyes sharpened, but not with the hate she beheld in his. ”Forgive me if my plight for understanding this damned war has aroused some loathing within you.” In that moment, she became passionate, strained—almost embittered with herself, rather than him because she couldn’t understand. ”That was ze least of my intentions, I assure you,” but her breath came flustered, and her expression sharpened further. ”Your Rusalka and my Drakru hold another in ze utmost  animosity, do you not? I have no knowledge of how tidings such as these are conducted along ze sea, but in my eyes, we are all blameless.”

And her tearful eyes, indeed, bored into the corne’s own, suddenly flaring so bright they simmered cold. Within them wasn’t fury, or the animosity she’d spoken of. It was confoundment—the most fervent child of confusion.

her first response caused a wave of anger to flood his frame and cause his limbs to quake against the power of it. the sound was never intended for drageda. the very thought of that caused him to feel a deeply rooted protection for his home... the home he had been taken away from, and had never hoped to return to again. as it was, he had been fortunate enough to find his place back beside the ocean. it seemed that it had only occurred with severe losses, and that was where his rage was hung.

illidan furrowed his brow at the pale woman. there were so many things that he wanted to say but didn't have the means to express. he was lost in the thought of it – as he often was – and all the social grace in the world would not have permitted him to speak the things that clung like dark shadows in his mind. this woman didn't understand because she existed only on one side of the equation. she knew only her pack, and the things that the cliff wolves desired. all of this should have seemed reasonable to her, but she did not know the history behind the sound. he was all that she had to learn.

“your wolves were never intended for the sound,” he stated after a moment. for once, his words seemed confident and sure. there was no sense of doubt within him. “my mother has belonged to that slice of the beach far longer than your pack has existed on the cliffs.” this was true, if what caiaphas' shared of her history was correct. she had been there long before the wolves of drageda had ever even arrived on the cliffs. yet, they felt entitled to the oceanic sanctuary? he could not accept it.

her last statement was truly what broke his back. he hung his head and closed his eyes tightly, fighting the urge to leap at her and thrash against her with claw and tooth. instead, the most sickening and bitter of laughs erupted from his lips. he shook his head from side to side before lifting his crown to stare at her with fire in the yellow of his eyes. “blameless...” the ghost repeated, as though the word was an absurdity in itself. “you're a fool if you truly believe that. a fool, or you're blinded by your loyalty to your master. grow a backbone.”

the words were savage and truly undeserved, but illidan could not fathom just how she had come to the conclusion that both sides were without blame. war was not created from blameless creatures. it wasn't his job to make this woman understand why it plagued him so, or why it was that rusalka had been forced to invade their pack. he wasn't intended to be the voice of reason in her head.

“i was born there, and my mother lived there through various different packs – leading many of them – so i'm not sure you understand at all. that is home... that is our home. it always will be. the sound has never, and will never belong to drageda.”

super short n sad n wordy messy post sorry lol idk what this even is
a.k.a i lost the first one i did n im having a lil breakdown @ this mfreakin desktoP-

At first, she disregarded his insults, in favor of leaning more towards him to speculate which he had to say. Rusalka had been there, before Drageda? And the kru had wished to abscond them of it, regardless. The herbalist frowned at the thought, hackles shivering as she contemplated the boy's words. "It would not settle right, I suppose, from your perspective." Lips pressed thin... then twitched as he went on.

Then again, perhaps she was the fool he scorned her to be. A spineless fool—even as the insult went over her, through her. "There is nothing that blinds me, khīnā. I was not born with ze Drakru. I am not even a part of these Wilds. I was brought into their graces only days prior to war—and you expect me to-to 'grow backbone'?" Suddenly, her muzzle contorted into a flurry that was almost a snarl. "Put yourself in my steps, khīnā, as much as you despise them, and let us see how you would adjust. You are as foolish as I am, to demand such of me, without taking into consideration that I most certainly do not know how to learn! How am I to learn, when ze concept of learning is so foreign to me, even here? I cannot ask for fear of seeming inadequate, and so I become that evermore. Yet, am I not here now, trying to understand you as I will?"

Her voice became a rasp, strained, as she flurried to her paws, quivering with tumult, tears hot and fresh and stinging with the salt of her frustrations. "What would you have me do, then? Become your prisoner?" The thought of him whisking her away as captive had been slow to come; it only crept into her mind now. Why hadn't he tried? Lowering her head warily, eyeing him with impassive aversion, she decided to give voice to it. "Even if you imprision me, what use would it be? Ze Drakru would not come for me; there is nothing for you to torture from me, either," she seethed, brows narrowing at him, morose. "I would not be missed, healer or no. That is most certain."

it might have been that he was young and that he didn’t understand, but her words did not ease the troubled mind of the youthful ghost. she claimed that she was not raised as one of the drageda wolves, that she had only just joined them days before the war had started. what a violently disgusting thing to admit to a young man riddled in gashes and scars. not only had her involvement not come from a place of deeply rooted loyalty, but she claimed that she truly had nothing to do with their mindset before the fight – she had been a participator without the knowledge of what it was for.
 
illidan shook his head back and forth with an expression of pity that had never once crossed his features. he did not feel sorry for her for what she did not know, but that she had been willing to do anything without the prior knowledge. she was a pawn without a backbone or a mind to think for herself. there was nothing worse than that, really… she could have been a slug and meant more to the world. he should have known that there was something wrong with someone who would fall in line to fight alongside those she knew little about.
 
there was little room to argue with her. the pale woman continued on, suggesting that even if he were to take her prisoner, they would not bother to retrieve her again. it was then that he felt the deepest sense of distress for her situation. he may have felt like an outsider in his own pack, but he knew that they would have rallied together in order to get him back if anything should have happened to him. once she had finished her monologue, he blinked twice and then exhaled sharply.
 
“you must be even more foolish than i’d originally thought,” he admitted with a shrug. “why would someone with even half of a brain remain loyal and fight beside those who would not even miss them? what allegiance do you owe someone who wouldn’t stand by your side in your time of need? how sad your life must be… you have my pity.”

last post from me! <3

'You have my pity.'  "You CHILD!"

The words tore from her, shrill and rattling with fury. She whirled up, grounding herself into the moss by her claws, her own scarred features writhing in mania. "You- you boy," she seethed. Aure didn't know if she lashed out because of how he so unforgivably insulted her person... or if it confirmed all the self-deprecating doubts within her. All the same, her mannerisms flew out the window. This whelp wanted to bestow his grievences on her? 

She dared to cast herself towards him, measured and slow, her snowy ruff disheveled like the feathers of a white raven. "Save your pity for yourself, boy. You may know how war is conducted, but you know nothing of the soul." She remained there, holding a stiff-legged stance, eyes bright and glowering. "I suppose I can see why, now, this war may have happened." It doesn't matter who was on the shore first, she amended to herself. What matters is how we all move on from it - coming to an accord or no.

If her mentality with war was the same age as this male was, then could she really blame herself? With those sour thoughts in mind, she promptly turned on her heel and strode from the copse they'd bickered beneath with a vehement, snipping farewell, and did not look back. Left, before she willingly proposed her throat to the jaws of the... enemy.

Aure had never had enemies; had grown up without the concept of them. And it was beneath her to merely assume that all Rusalkans, hostility aside, conducted themselves so adversely. But with the actions of Caphias, and, now, this little wraith... she was beginning to believe they were all one of the same.

the young ghost did not even blink as she broke her stoic facade. he did not need to tell her that she was wrong – that he had broken his childish bonds long before she had ever even entered the wilds. she did not need to know the trials that he had suffered through in order to stand where he stood. the verbal tirade was not something that he believed to be effective. up to that point, he did not believe that words had the power to injure him in the same way that a man's fangs did.

but he was wrong.

“you know nothing of the soul!”

he could not help that his eyes fell away from her – that the fire within them had died down to nothing but smoldering embers. it was as though her words had taken the form of a stake and had found a way to wedge between his ribs and into his heart. she could call him a boy and a child until her face turned blue. she could tell him that he was stupid, that he did not understand anything of how the world worked.

… but she had called him soulless.

she had called him soulless and he had no way to combat that, because he was not certain that she was wrong. even before he had found the means to speak again, she had been gone. it seemed that she had found what she'd needed to say and left promptly after. the young ghost stood in his place until snow began to flutter through the air. his eyes trailed to where the pale woman had been with a stinging feeling in the pit of his stomach.

maybe he did know nothing of the soul.